


where is my crown?

by teddy_bears



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Divorce, Gen, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_bears/pseuds/teddy_bears
Summary: When he leaves for work, wraps his hands around his briefcase, tucks his feet into his polished shoes, he takes the tension with him. The sharp, fragile air that filled the atmosphere around the breakfast table dissipates, and Trina feels alone and too present. Her house seems to loom over her, her furniture becomes giants, the walls as tall as the sky and yet closing in on her.  She can scarcely breathe— she holds onto the table like a drowning person to debris.--Trina wonders who she is after the person who shaped her walks away.Takes place right after Marvin asks Trina for a divorce in A Breakfast Over Sugar. Rated T for mild swearing and a mention of underwear.





	where is my crown?

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a lot of things, actually. One is of course, [A Breakfast Over Sugar ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yocuao8cYrE) from In Trousers, and if you haven't listened to that, where have you been? Second is this [amazing fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10574340/chapters/24233835) by [Rachel](https://moreracquetball.tumblr.com), who made me want to listen to In Trousers in the first place. Amazing characterisation and analysis there. Third is this fic called [trina darling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11657460) by cosmickirk which was amazing in their interpretation of Trina as well.

“Pass the sugar,” he says, not meeting her eyes for even a moment.

Trina does.

When he leaves for work, wraps his hands around his briefcase, tucks his feet into his polished shoes, he takes the tension with him. The sharp, fragile air that filled the atmosphere around the breakfast table dissipates, and Trina feels alone and too present. Her house seems to loom over her, her furniture becomes giants, the walls as tall as the sky and yet closing in on her. She can scarcely breathe— she holds onto the table like a drowning person to debris.

Sinking, sinking, sinking, she hits the floor, gasping for air. _“You can’t go on as if you’re dying,”_ he would say, but she truly feels it. He had been her oxygen, as cliche as it sounds. Or rather, she had learned to breathe around his vice-like grip around her throat. Now that he had let go, it was all too much. _Strangely_ , she finds herself thinking as she staggers towards the stairs, _I can’t seem to cry anymore_.

Perhaps she had spent it all earlier, when she had let salty droplets roll down her cheeks, past her trembling lips, caress her jawline, drip into her sugary tea. She had controlled her shaky voice well, so well that he didn’t even look up at her to see. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see. Maybe he knew that she would cry, and he didn’t want to feel the guilt, as strong as her sorrow, gnawing at their intestines.

She trips on the last stair. Shaking herself off, she heads to the bathroom. She stares at herself in the mirror, a wreck. Her once-pretty long hair, still ruffled from sleep, her cream-white sweater draped past her pale shoulders. He used to run his hands through her hair, lovingly, asking her to keep it as long as possible, as feminine as possible, although lately he barely spares her a second glance. Trina hates it, the muddy caramel rolling down her head. She knows she’s just kidding herself— he wouldn’t feel anything for her, not even guilt. He doesn’t feel anything for her. She opens up the mirror, pulls out her Prozac, empties a single pill onto her hand, desperate to numb. For a second, she entertains the idea of more, but the thought leaves her head as fast as it entered. She raises it to her lips—

_Don’t._

“Er– sorry?” Trina asks aloud. Oh, she’s really losing it.

_Feel._

“Feel? What?” she glances around for the source of the voice. She closes the cabinet mirror, and she finds it. Her own face, no longer weak and frail, but hard and strong and _angry_. Her own eyes glare rays of heat into the depths of her heart. She sees the girl she used to be, the open-hearted artist who wasn’t afraid to laugh at nothing, who didn’t let herself go ignored, the honest woman who wouldn’t have settled for a man who couldn’t love her. Yes, the _woman_ who loved with everything she had, instead of hiding her feelings behind a carefully crafted homemade façade.

Trina touches her face. She had become a liar, just like him. Belittled into a mask. She looks down at the pill in her palm.

She understands.

She drops the pill into the sink.

She wants to _feel._

She takes a deep breath, steadies herself. She chances a last glance, manages a quick, watery smile to that woman in the mirror, and she runs into their—no, her room. She does a running jump onto her bed, something she hasn’t done since she was a teenager, rolls over onto the pillow, buries her face in it and screams. The shrill, piercing sound ricochets off the walls, the pillow not helping one bit. Who cares what the neighbours think! She screams, not with rage or sadness, but with every repressed emotion she forced down like bile all these years. She screams, feeling the sound in every nerve in her body, feeling the vibrations shake her like an earthquake, feeling, feeling, feeling. She won’t settle for nothing.

After what seems like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, she stops, out of breath. Thoughts run races around her head, _what about Jason, who will get the house, will he pay child support, will the divorce be amicable, will I need a lawyer, where will Jason go._ Slowing her breathing, she forces the marathons to a stop. She shuts down her thoughts, tries to will her brain to shut off. Holding the pillow closer to her face, Trina tries hard not to think of anything but herself. When was the last time she’d done that? She can’t remember. _You know what? I don’t care._ she thinks.

She flips over, holds the pillow high over her head and imagines it’s a person. “I don’t care!” she says angrily to it. “I’m fucking losing it and I don’t care! Hah!” she forces a laugh out, and seeing the ridiculousness of the situation, begins to giggle for real. _I’ve missed this sound,_ she thinks, roaring with laughter, doubled over on the bed like a child. “Oh my gosh, what the hell’s wrong with me?”

She simmers down after a while, staring up at the ceiling. Humming to herself. “Am I free?” she says aloud, having not heard the sound of her true, genuine voice in so long. Remembering that she had liked public speaking. Trina bicycles her legs in the air, her skirt falling and revealing her underwear. Nobody’s wanted to see it in a while, so it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. She snakes her hand down, feeling her stretch-marked stomach, moving past the boring cotton panties, onto the smooth white thighs. She rubs circles in them for a while, not erotically or sexually, just feeling her own body for the first time, knowing now it is finally hers, and hers alone. Finally, someone that belongs to her completely. Is this liberation? She runs her hands through her long hair. She’s wanted to cut it for a while, but he wouldn’t let her, convincing her it was _“too nice to cut, baby._ ” She pulls the locks in front of her face. Who’s going to tell her what to do now?

 _Me_ , she smiles to herself, another watery red grin. _Me!_

She gets dressed for the day, pulling on clothes she hasn’t seen in forever, clothes she had loved but he hated. Who was he to tell her how to dress anyway– he looked like a blind man had gone mad in an abandoned thrift store. She runs out the door, almost forgetting to lock the house behind her. Her skirt billows behind her as she almost skips to the hairdressers.

The euphoria won't last, of course, and Trina knew she’ll feel the heartbreak like a punch in the gut soon, desperate for someone to love her and want her and need her.

But for now, she couldn't give a shit if she tried.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry that this kinda sucks and is a bit clunky. i tried to choose words that she might like.
> 
> you can follow me on dumblr @teddy-art !! comments are super nice and much appreciated!!


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